


close your eyes & realize that we were meant for this

by distantdreaming



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Captain Squad to be brought in later, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Oikawa's got shitty parents, Panic Attacks, Pining Iwaizumi Hajime, Self-Esteem Issues, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but if you're looking for anything explicitly explicit you're in the wrong place my guy, inconsistent updates because the author is a living disaster, some sensual content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantdreaming/pseuds/distantdreaming
Summary: Oikawa's bright, loud, confident, and completely full of shit.Hajime knows he's faking most of his surface personality, and he's also known Oikawa since they were five years old, so he's not fooled. The pressure is building, Oikawa is cracking, and Hajime's damned if he's gonna let such an incredible boy fall apart on his watch. Even if it means holding Oikawa together himself, he'll do it. He's been in love with the boy for years anyway, and there's nothing like helpless devotion as a motivation to hold on to each other even if the world feels like it’s crumbling to pieces around them.--Or, Hajime is naught but a lovestruck boy holding close to a boy so beautiful there's no way he could be sad, but it's his tears that wet Hajime's shoulders. Neither of them really know what the future brings, but if it means Oikawa gets the hell out of this town and Hajime's by his side, then they'll push forward and pull each other along until they get there, no matter what it takes.





	1. just double dare me, and i promise now that i'll stay

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I know I'm working on the Klance fic but honestly, I'm not getting the therapeutic thing from that that I got from the solangelo, so here's me attempting it with the fandom I've been trash for for months; Haikyuu!!.
> 
> I'm lowkey working on Kuroken fic, but these two are my main source of cathartic reading, so here we are. I'm planning to write more solangelo, I don't wanna let go of how nice that felt and how much it helps, but I also have a huge need to write _something_ for these assholes, so here we are. If you know my work, this is going to have a playlist à la TKAA, so it's on Spotify under misspandamonium as **close your eyes & realize that we were meant for this soundtrack**, so go ahead and search that up to get another alert style for a new chapter, since the song goes up with the chapter. 
> 
> Fic title credit to Youth In Revolt, chapter title credit to Waterparks.

It’s funny, really, how little they have in common on the surface.

It’s not as if he  _ wants _ to be part of some bullshit opposites attract cliché, but he apparently  _ is _ , because here they are, impossibly different and yet stuck with each other since the age of five. And he’s such, he’s  _ such _ a fucking cliché, falling for his best friend, the boy next door, the prom king with the perfect fucking hair, and it doesn’t even matter that he knows all of Oikawa’s (many, many) shitty personality traits, many flaws, many imperfections. He’s gone for those stupid curls, and he has been for a long, long time.

Oikawa, for all his ability to read people, has somehow not figured this out yet.

***

For a boy — no, man — with such talent and such skill, Oikawa’s really fucking insecure.

Sure, sure, he’ll adorn himself in smirks and smiles and bravado and crowns, but Hajime knows the way he stays up all night watching, memorizing, analyzing, knows how long he spends practicing, working his body until it’s at the very edge. Hit it ‘til it breaks, and all that shit.

He’s reckless.

He’s ruining his health, putting such strain on his body, and his damn knee is going to actually ruin his career if he’s not careful. Oikawa is aware of this, Hajime thinks, on some level. Still, he’s not stopping, pushing and pushing for perfection that goes against the laws of human nature, and he pushes to be the best captain, the best server, the best setter. 

He doesn’t seem to understand that he already  _ is _ all those things to the boys of Aoba Johsai, he’s already been chosen as captain, they trust him to set, they know his serves are great when they work, and when they’re not, Oikawa’s good enough to keep them rolling forward anyway.

He’s no Ushijima, and he’s no Kenma, no Kageyama, Daichi, Kuroo, though, and Hajime knows he can’t stop comparing himself to every setter, server, and captain he’s ever heard of. He’s constantly ranking himself against everyone else, poking at the flaws he sees until he’s more swiss cheese than man, ripping and pulling at himself to try and make the flaws smaller.

He’s going to fucking ruin his knee, that brace isn’t enough to keep the muscles from tearing if he keeps fucking  _ landing _ on it as hard as he does.

Hajime can hear the squeak of Oikawa’s shoes against the gym floor as he gets closer, and he sighs. Oikawa and him always walk home together, because if they don’t, Hajime has no guarantee Oikawa will go the fuck home and not stay practicing until he falls apart. Judging by the thumps of volleyballs on the floor, Hajime has to stay and clean the gym —  _ again —  _ and force Oikawa to go shower and change before they can leave.

He toes off his shoes by the door so he doesn’t track any more dirt inside, and he’s been doing sports long enough that the slick-stick of the gym floor doesn’t even remotely bother him when his bare toes settle on it. Sure, it’s gross, but he’s definitely touched grosser. 

Oikawa hasn’t even noticed him, tossing the ball up and running, jumping, spike-serving. He misses the bottle he has set up at the other end of the court by only a small increment, but he knows before he lands, so he lands hard. 

Hajime sighs, and walks faster, catching Oikawa’s arm as he turns to try again.

Oikawa jumps a little, abruptly facing him with wide eyes, and he moves to pull out of Hajime’s grip.

“No,” Hajime says, closing his hand a little tighter around Oikawa’s forearm. “I’m not letting you go unless you’re going to shower.”

“I’m not done,” Oikawa protests, predictably. “I have to perfect this first.”

“That’s cute,” Hajime says, starting to walk and dragging Oikawa with him. Oikawa stumbles, probably in some kind of childish protest because it is not the first time Hajime has pulled him along, and his height doesn’t mean shit when Hajime’s stronger. 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, half whine and half sigh, and it’s a testament to the fact that Hajime has heard every tone his voice makes that he doesn’t glance back or blush, because Oikawa sounds needy and soft. “Iwa-chan, I have to do this. I  _ have _ to.”

“You really don’t,” Hajime says flatly, continuing to tug him along, and Oikawa lets his step even out even as Hajime feels the frown aimed at the back of his head.

“You’re mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa exclaims, all dramatics and flourishes, and Hajime ignores him because this is what they do. Oikawa pushes and pushes and whines and complains, and Hajime puts up with his shit because someone needs to make sure he’s eating and sleeping and Oikawa sure as fuck isn’t gonna take care of himself. He’s Icarus, and without Hajime holding his dumbass closer to the ground, he’ll melt his wings straight off.

Makki and Mattsun tell Hajime it’s because he’s whipped, and he tells them to fuck off, and they all pretend like Hajime isn’t head over heels for a boy with too many stars in his eyes to focus on something as trivial as unrequited crushes.

This is not to say Oikawa wouldn’t care if he knew; he is many things, but genuinely cruel has never been one of them. Not to Hajime, not to his nephew, not to his sister, never to those who matter. He can come off as mean and conceited and arrogant and a thousand other adjectives that all boil down to  _ big ass head, shitty personality,  _ but he’s so much more when his bravado is pushed aside.

When that fake smile is brushed away, when the peace sign is down and his fangirls are nowhere to be found, when he’s in one of Hajime’s old shirts and his stupid fucking neon alien pajama pants, glasses on and buried in blankets and pillows as he marathons  _ X-Files… _ that’s when he’s real. That’s when he’s not hiding behind anything, that’s when his walls are down, and that’s when Hajime gets to be closest to him.

This Oikawa, sweaty and tall and limping just slightly, he’s just barely in reach. Hajime’s fingers feel like they’re only just brushing the surface of his skin, like he’s so lost in his fucking head that all he is is cocky jokes and smirks. This is when he’s at his worst, when he’s inches from destroying himself because he feels like he can’t keep going, when Hajime wants to pull him close and fight off everything that ever tries to tell him he is anything but incredible, just the way he is now. 

Hajime will draw the reasoning behind this particular attempt and self-destruction later; for now he pushes open the door to the club room and shoves Oikawa in ahead of him. “Go shower,” he says, not even bothering to put any inflection behind his tone.

Oikawa sticks his tongue out, childish and provocative, and Hajime just rolls his eyes, turning around and heading to go pick up all the volleyballs Oikawa has inevitably left at the far end of the court.

Cleaning up after Oikawa is nothing new, and Hajime almost finds it therapeutic at this point. It’s an easy repetition, he’s been spending years cleaning the gym both here at Aobajousai and before at Kitagawa Daiichi, and it’s so familiar he doesn’t need to really think about what he’s doing. Muscle memory will carry him through just fine.

He mops efficiently, absently realizing Oikawa probably hasn’t eaten since lunch, even though it’s nearing nine at night and he’s been practicing for hours. Hajime left practice to tutor an underclassmen, since he’s paid for it and extra money is always handy when Oikawa’s in one of his needy moods, but it meant he’d had to leave Oikawa to his own devices for longer than usual. Makki had work, and Mattsun had familial obligations, and Oikawa was untethered.

He shouldn’t feel responsible that Oikawa, on his own, will hurt himself. He shouldn’t be guilty for having a life of his own, unrelated to Oikawa. And, mostly, he doesn’t, but on nights like these, when Oikawa’s fucking pride gets in the way and he won’t tell anyone that he needs company, needs help, needs anything at all?

It’s frustrating. 

He wants to see Oikawa happy, and  _ genuinely _ happy, not that fake tongue-out winking smile he gives when he’s rehearsed his every movement. He wants to see him able to look in a mirror after waking up in the morning and not cringe away from his reflection, he wants to see Oikawa look back on his performance in a game and be proud of how fucking amazing he is.

He’s putting away the last of the cleaning supplies when Oikawa limps out from the club room, dressed freshly in his well-fitted clothes, damp curls hidden beneath a beanie because he doesn’t bring his blowdryer to school since he’s “ _ not  _ that  _ vain, Iwa-chan _ ,” but he still won’t be seen with messy hair. Hajime wants nothing more than to pull off the hat and bury his hands in what he knows are coconut-scented curls, but he doesn’t, because Oikawa will panic about them being in public and appropriate gestures for boys to make.

Hajime really, really dislikes Oikawa’s parents, but that is an issue to dwell on another time.

Now, he pulls his shoes back on and waits for Oikawa to meet him at the door before flicking off the lights and plucking the keys from Oikawa’s hands, locking up behind them. “Ice your knee,” he says, not needing to even ask if it aches.

Oikawa’s mouth twists in a way that is not pretty at all, and so it smooths back out again quickly. “Bossy, Iwa-chan,” he comments, purposefully dismissive. “I’m fine. I don’t need you to mother me.”

“Shittykawa,” Hajime says patiently as he returns the keys into the waiting hand, meeting his eyes levelly. “Ice your fucking knee.”

Oikawa wrinkles his nose and huffs, moving to stride off without him, but he winces as his bad leg hits each step. Hajime, having been expecting this, simply cuts in front of him at the bottom of the stairs and crouches slightly, waiting until Oikawa mumbles about four different curses and insults before climbing onto his back.

He hooks his hands under Oikawa’s thighs and straightens, grateful that he’s such a regular at the gym, because otherwise lifting Oikawa’s lanky ass might have been a problem. As it is, he’s been doing this for years, and the extra weight doesn’t really bother him at all. His knees, after all, are perfectly fine.

Oikawa’s pout is audible in his ear, petulant mumbling and little puffs of breath that tickle his neck. He ignores it as best he can, because if he shivered Oikawa would definitely notice and he’s in no mood to be teased in the way that Oikawa will inevitably latch onto in his current mood. Instead, he sets his jaw and sets off to their street, as he and Oikawa have been next-door neighbors since they were seven years old. 

Hajime remembers how he’d looked back then, when he’d still been lighthearted enough to smile at the world. He remembers Oikawa best, though, with those big brown eyes and fluffy curls, round cheeks and short arms and little legs, and fucking  _ grabby hands _ about  _ everything _ , so hungry to learn the world by touch.

Now, he has learned to keep his hands to himself for the most part, and he’s withdrawn behind his walls, his smiles and bravado. He’s hiding, really. It’s hard to get close to someone when you’re never really interacting with who they really are, so Oikawa pretends he’s someone else.

Hajime has been around long enough to know him better, though, and through him, Makki and Mattsun have caught enough glimpses to understand that Oikawa is more than he seems on the surface.

They’re on their street when Oikawa loses patience, whining softly. “My knee hurts.”

Hajime snorts. “I know. You overworked it again, even with your brace. That’s why you’re icing it as soon as we get in the door.”

Oikawa’s arms shift a little. “My parents aren’t home,” he says, soft, and, oh. 

Okay. 

Hajime’s starting to understand why he chose today to self-destruct. His parents have never really been the most supportive, which is a really nice way of saying they specialize in tearing down his already delicate self-esteem and ruining his mental health. If they’ve left him alone for a trip of some kind, it is not without thoroughly tearing him to pieces before they left, in some shitty way of making sure he doesn’t have the confidence to disobey them.

Hajime feels an ache in his jaw from how hard he’s clenching it, so he forces himself to let it relax. “Do you want me to stay with you, or do you want to stay with me?” 

Oikawa’s arms shift to more of a hug than a simple grip. “Stay with you. Your mom is nice. She likes me.”

“Everyone likes you,” Hajime grumbles. “You’ve got that kind of face.”

Oikawa positively  _ beams _ , he can feel it, so he knows he’s said the right thing (not that he had any doubts, he’s known Oikawa way too long). “Yeah, I do, don’t I?”

Hajime has to consciously not smile as he kicks open the gate to his front yard, and Oikawa’s still grinning as he fishes the keys from Hajime’s front pocket (he’s gotten very good at ignoring how that feels over the years) and unlocks the door.

“I’m home, ma! Brought Tooru!” Hajime calls, using Oikawa’s given name because that’s how his mother has always known him.

Predictably, Oikawa flushes a lovely shade of pink and half hides his face when he smiles. Hajime thinks about the least cute thing he can, which ends up being the last time he accidentally walked in on Makki and Mattsun playing intense tonsil hockey.

He represses a shudder and staves off his own blush successfully, grinning as his mom rounds the corner from the living room to greet them, and her attention is warmly directed at Oikawa. She fusses over his knee instantly, because she knows whenever Hajime’s carrying him like this, he’s fucked it up.

“Iwa-chan, your mother is amazing,” Oikawa gushes as Hajime deposits him on the couch and lets go, while his mother is off fetching ice packs and sugary snacks.

“I know,” Hajime says, because he does. He’s so, so grateful he has good parents, a good family, because he knows not everyone does. There’s a beautiful example sitting right in front of him, with lightly flushed cheeks and a slightly crooked beanie and dimples Hajime always wants to poke.

So he does.

Oikawa half-squeals, half-giggles, batting at his hand, and Hajime doesn’t fight the smile that rises on his own face this time. The sound of that laugh is beautiful, because it’s his laugh when he isn’t thinking about making it sound properly boyish and charming. It’s his natural giggle, childlike and gorgeous, just like him.

His mother brings out ice and cookies, and Oikawa gets pampered as his foot is elevated on cushions and a blanket is over his lap as ice is gently wrapped to his knee, and Hajime plops down next to him. Oikawa’s walls are down, and it’s obvious when he immediately tips into Hajime’s side and cuddles up.

Hajime curls an arm around his shoulders, because it’s not like he’s going to deny either of them the comfort of this. His mother had been watching an old sci-fi movie, and it’s got aliens in it, so when she unpauses it Oikawa’s attention is immediately enraptured. Hajime rolls his eyes, and he knows it’s fond, so he steals a cookie off the plate resting on Oikawa’s lap and lets his cheek rest against the soft fabric of Oikawa’s hat.

Tonight will likely be hard, later, because Oikawa’s happiness is mercurial and he will have trouble falling asleep, inevitably, and Hajime will have to coax him into it. Now, though, Oikawa’s got those sparkly eyes on because aliens, and a cute little smile, and he’s warm and safe under Hajime’s arm. 

It’s enough. They'll deal with what comes later when it arrives.


	2. they say that love is forever, your forever is all that i need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is rly cute yw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyy. I'm baaack. Title cred to the incredible, stunning, absolutely amazing Sleeping With Sirens.

Oikawa’s sitting on Hajime’s bed in one of Hajime’s shirts, and it sits loose on his shoulders and just a little high on his hips, and Hajime has to actively keep his eyes off the sweatpants that are just a little too short on his legs, also borrowed. Normally, Oikawa has clothes in his bottom dresser drawer, but they’re all dirty and Oikawa keeps forgetting to switch them out for clean ones and Hajime’s refusing to wash them with his own, so they stay in a pile beside his laundry basket.

Hajime can already tell this isn’t gonna be one of the nights were it’s just a fun sleepover to Oikawa, or one of the nights where he pretends they’re just friends and always have been and always will be. Tonight, Hajime can sink down next to him, push a hand into soft curls and pet through, massaging the scalp beneath.

Oikawa lets out a little breath, and sinks down and into him, head falling to rest on his shoulder. Hajime brushes a kiss to his forehead, his temple, his cheek as he passes, and curls his free arm around Oikawa’s waist and drags him closer. Oikawa’s long legs toss over his lap, letting him curl up and cuddle in, quiet and shy. 

He gets like this, sometimes. Wanting reassurance and gentle touches and kisses, needy and clingy in a different way than his usual pleas for attention. It’s quieter, it’s subtle, but it’s still Oikawa. It’s him when his walls are all down, when he’s not hiding his wants and his needs behind bravado and smiles. He’s delicate like this, and it feels like handling a glass figurine, but Hajime has always been a careful person and he’s not going to change that now. 

Oikawa sighs, and his breath fans over Hajime’s collarbone, and it almost feels like a kiss. It’s not, because even when he’s at his rawest, Oikawa can’t work up the courage to admit to them both that he wants it. Hajime knows it’s not his fault, that his fucking parents won’t let him grow into himself enough to be comfortable with even wearing his glasses in public if he can avoid it, let alone holding hands with another boy. 

Hajime sighs, stacks his chin gently on Oikawa’s head and wraps both arms around him securely.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything for a while, but Hajime can hear the stutters in his breathing and feel the shift of his jaw when he tries to put words together. Patiently, Hajime waits, because he knows Oikawa needs this, needs to take his time and figure out what he wants to say.

Finally, when Hajime’s got his eyes closed and he’s hovering somewhere around drowsy napping, Oikawa clears his throat.

Humming, Hajime sits up, shifting them a little until he can lean against his headboard and pull Oikawa’s lanky frame along so both of them are more comfortable and Oikawa’s not gonna be muffled by Hajime’s shirt.

Oikawa still curls into him, but it’s looser, so Hajime lets his hand trail up and down Oikawa’s back lazily, dragging fingers lightly scratching, waiting as Oikawa gets comfortable again and settles in.

“Am I annoying?” Oikawa asks, voice small and quiet.

“Yes,” Hajime says automatically, folding his free arm behind his head so he can watch Oikawa’s expression. Right now, it is shocked hurt, so he continues. “You’re annoyingly persistent, but it means you always get what you want. You’re annoyingly pretty, but you know that. You put way too much work into yourself to not know that. You’re annoying when you poke me with your stupid highlighter collection when I’m trying to study because you had a weird dream last night and you need to tell me right then. You’re annoying when you get all cocky and fuck around in matches and it costs us a point. But none of that is bad, because everyone’s annoying sometimes.”

Oikawa’s expression relaxed, and shifted to mischevious. “Even Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah,” Hajime says, rolling his eyes. “Even me. My mom tells me all the time. Apparently, I talk about you too much.”

Oikawa’s blush is gorgeous, and so is his pleased giggle, and Hajime smiles. Normally he’s not so blunt about it, but Oikawa’s had a rough day, and Hajime knows doting always makes him flustered and happy. He also knows he’s the only one close enough to Oikawa to dote and mean it honestly, and not out of pity or hero-worship admiration or fangirl thirst.

His mother dotes on Oikawa as well, of course, but it’s in an entirely different mom-like manner, so Hajime’s not really including that in this category. This is his and his alone, he’s spent too many years of his life falling for Oikawa for it not to be.

“Iwa-chan’s annoying too!” Oikawa says gleefully, beaming up at him with those pretty pink cheeks and warm brown eyes, so Hajime messes up his hair and pushes gently at Oikawa’s bright expression with his entire hand.

Oikawa giggles again behind Hajime’s fingers, and Hajime’s chest warms.

***

Oikawa had started some weird conversation about aliens after that, mostly one-sided as he gave his opinions on various conspiracy theories and Hajime told him, in vivid detail, how they were all bullshit. 

Oikawa had fallen asleep with a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth around three hours after midnight, and Hajime had stayed up another half an hour just to watch over him, to make sure he stayed calm and safe before he let himself fall asleep.

Getting out of bed for morning practice only a few hours later is absolute hell, but it’s far from the first time they’ve done something like this.

Hajime hits snooze when his alarm goes off and rubs his face tiredly,  waiting for his eyes to focus and for his hatred of the morning hours to abate enough for him to move much more. Oikawa’s still asleep on his chest, since Hajime’s alarm is at a much lower volume than Oikawa’s. Hajime likes waking him up, and Oikawa knows that, so his alarm won’t go off at all today. 

Hajime slides his fingers into Oikawa’s sleep-mussed curls, scratching lightly at his scalp until Oikawa shifts a little and yawns. Then Hajime lets his hand trail down, fingers brushing along Oikawa’s jaw as it moves, watching his pretty lips part. 

Oikawa doesn’t notice because he never does, and he leans his head into Hajime’s hand when it cups his cheek. Hajime holds in a sigh, brushing his thumb along Oikawa’s cheek and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Get the fuck out of my bed,” Hajime says gruffly, quietly, using his other hand to give Oikawa’s ass a light smack.

Oikawa laughs, sitting up exactly where he’d been laying, which puts that ass on one of Hajime’s thighs. Hajime’s really not complaining, especially when Oikawa raises his arms up in a leisurely stretch and that ill-fitting shirt raises up, letting Hajime see his hips where they peek above the waistband of his sweats.

He’s so fucking attractive it makes Hajime’s head spin, sometimes. This is another one of those things he’s had years to practice, though, so all he does is watch, instead of something like pushing Oikawa onto his back and pinning him down to bite at those hips.

Hajime brings his eyes back up when the hem drops down again, when Oikawa’s rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes and yawning again. Finally, he drops his hands, blinking sleepily.

Hajime sits up, bringing up his right leg to rest his arm on it, letting Oikawa keep pinning down his left. Predictably, Oikawa leans on his arm, folding his own on top and pillowing his cheek. Hajime grins a little at how soft he looks, reaching out to tuck a curl behind his ear. “This isn’t getting out of bed.”

Oikawa smiles, dimples and all. “This is much nicer.”

Hajime snorts, even though he’s very right. Hajime really, really wants to kiss him, so instead he shoves Oikawa off of him completely and onto the floor.

Oikawa squawks indignantly, flailing like the graceful baby giraffe he is, yanking fruitlessly a Hajime’s leg to try and pull him down as well.

Oikawa may be taller, but Hajime’s both heavier and stronger, so he doesn’t budge, just sits there and smirks down at a pouting Oikawa. 

“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa blurts, poking his shin to drive him the point.

Hajime laughs, getting up himself and holding down a hand to pull Oikawa to his feet. “You didn’t wanna move, so I moved you.”

“Like a  _ brute, _ ” Oikawa protests, scandalized. “What would people say if they knew how you treat me?”

Hajime snorts again, because they both know Oikawa gets regularly treated like a prince in Hajime’s hands. “Oh, the shame. I’m terrible,” he says, as deadpan as he can, “Whatever will they say? The Grand King is being mistreated, his crown is askew on his head, there’s a bruise on his ass, the people must revolt!”

Oikawa rolls his eyes this time, since he hates his title, and his joyous acceptance of it on the court is as fake as his smiles. “Don’t be mean,” he says petulantly, pouting off to the left. 

“Get dressed, you dick. I’m gonna shower and then we’ll walk to yours so you can get clean clothes.” Hajime doesn’t wait for his reply, grabbing his towel off the hook on his closet door and heading for the bathroom.

He doesn’t wait to see if Oikawa does as he’s told, since Oikawa hates looking anything but flawless and Hajime won’t let him keep his entire salon’s worth of various products in his bathroom, so Oikawa’s got to get ready at his own house. He won’t chance going to school without his carefully applied concealer, carefully styled curls, carefully picked accessories. He’ll have to do it all over again after practice, which is why they’re almost always barely on time for homeroom, but he’s worked it down to a science and whizzes through his routine.

It’s just that his routine requires about fifteen steps, so it can only be condensed so far.

Hajime had given them an extra fifteen minutes earlier than Oikawa usually gets up, since Hajime takes about a  grand total of ten minutes to go from his bed to out the door and they’d gotten to wake up gently to boot. They’ll make it to practice two minutes early, just like Oikawa always does, since he’s captain and he believes in setting a good example.

Hajime and the rest of his team allow him to believe whatever he wants, and don’t bother to point out everyone else is usually already waiting outside when they arrive. It’s not worth Oikawa’s dramatics, and he’d just quote Julie Andrews at them anyway, because royalty can never be late and everyone else is only early.

After all, who would be mean enough to burst such an innocent fantasy of Oikawa being able to manage his time and get everything done without Hajime bullying him into actually meeting his deadlines?

The answer is Makki and Mattsun, who give them shit every single morning, without fail, and somehow manage to avoid repeating jokes unless they’re determined to make something into a squad meme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one final left to do today and I'm off for the entire summer, and you bet your ass this is my new favorite thing to work on. I'm so excited, Iwa's really really fun to write and I'm Oikawa trash, so it's a good flow. This is coming out as my more prose-y style of writing, but that's what I like the most for plots like this (I'm kidding, I have no actual plot laid out lmao) and I feel like it fits what's going on rn rly well. Anyway, tell me your thoughts and give me your predictions/plot bunnies and we'll see what happens next!


	3. all these noises, so relentless, i just need a second to breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title cred to benny

Oikawa’s brushing one of his powdery makeup products on when Hajime gets out of the shower, and those curls are held back by a cotton elastic headband. He’s cute like this, Hajime admits, all domestic as he gets his face together.

The moons under his eyes are getting darker, though, crescents of proof that he’s been pushing himself to stay up later and later to study and try to be more, better, smarter. Hajime wants to mail Oikawa’s parents a glitter bomb with a note that reads  _ YOUR SON IS PERFECT AND YOU’RE SHITTY PEOPLE, _ but he himself is not a shitty person, so he’ll resist the urge. 

Instead, he towels off his hair in the background of Oikawa’s mirror, giving him a small grin when Oikawa’s eye gets caught.

Oikawa’s cheeks flush gently, and it’s really something else when he flutters his eyes as he tries to refocus on the finishing touches of his makeup. Hajime grins wider and ruffles in his gym bag for his uniform.

He ties his tie haphazardly, because it’s not like he really gives a shit, and Oikawa takes a few seconds to fix his fucked up collar before they’re both finally ready and out the doors. If they were in a romantic comedy, this is where Hajime would take Oikawa’s hand, and they’d run to class and arrive breathless and smiling.

This is life, though, and so they jog beside each other and don’t touch, and Oikawa’s focus is entirely on maintaining his appearance and his breathing pattern, and Hajime’s is on shit like how he wishes this  _ was _ a romantic comedy. He knows he doesn’t come off as someone that’s into sentimentality or sweetness, but he likes to lead a mysterious life. Is he the kind of person to buy a bouquet of roses and offer his jacket on the first date, or the kind of person to key your shitty ex’s car with you and run away laughing?

(Both, obviously, because he doesn’t see the need for exclusivity on any side of any spectrum, including being a Good Boy ™ or a Bad Boy™ .)

Oikawa’s stunningly beautiful, and that doesn’t change after a short run, so he arrives with all the grace of a jungle cat and all the glamour of a movie star, waving to the girls with a smile as pretty and as fake as costume jewelry. 

Hajime takes his arm and drags him to their seats in the middle, glaring down anyone that tries to start a conversation with either of them. He’s not in the mood to listen to Oikawa lie and flirt with that empty laugh, and Oikawa’s probably not in the mood to do it, either. 

Hajime’s right if the brush of Oikawa’s fingers on his own is any indication, hidden in a gesture of  _ oh, you _ as they walk. By the time they sit down, the moment of honesty is gone, and Oikawa’s grinning teasingly at everyone in that way he does when he wants to be seen as coy. 

Still. It’s not the expression he gets when he  _ is _ being coy, and Hajime knows because he’s seen the real one dozens of times. He likes to think he’s seen almost all of Oikawa’s real faces, just like he’s seen every mask. 

***

He’s not a jealous man, or he’d be constantly on edge, what with the way everyone always fucking  _ stares _ at Oikawa. He can feel the eyes on both of them as they walk through the courtyard, but he knows more of them rest on Oikawa. He wants to hit something, but only because his skin is starting to crawl. 

These others, they don’t get to see Oikawa without his masks. If Hajime saw this as a competition - which he doesn’t, because Oikawa is not an object or a prize, but to use the metaphor - there would be no other competitors. He’s the only one that has ever stood a chance, so he isn’t jealous. 

That doesn’t mean he likes being fucking  _ stared at _ like a zoo exhibit. 

“We’re eating on the roof,” he decides, pulling Oikawa’s shoulder to turn him to the right direction. 

Oikawa blessedly doesn’t protest, merely bringing out his phone to text Makki and Mattsun the change of plans, still smiling cheerily at anyone that will look. 

Hajime wonders if he ever gets an ache in his cheeks from all his false pretenses. 

***

“Did the royal couple get tired of the peasants?” Makki asks, lazily laying back over Mattsun’s lap. “Did they beg for an autograph yet?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hajime says, not bothering to put any force behind it. “I’m tired. This asshole didn’t wanna sleep until late.” He jerks a thumb over at Oikawa, who’s still glowing with apparent health. 

Oikawa beams as he laughs, ever the crowd pleaser. “Iwa-chan, don’t be mean! You didn’t have to stay up with me!”

Hajime levels a look at him that says he’s not in the fucking mood, and Oikawa gives the slightest nod of acknowledgement. 

“You’re so married, it’s gross,” grouses Mattsun. Hajime flips him off, it goes ignored. 

Hajime tolerates the jokes because none of them have ever really gone too far; for all their pursuits of humor in everything, both Makki and Mattsun know when to stop. They know some buttons should not be pushed, and some can be punched all the time.

Oikawa’s staring at his phone, oddly silent, and it’s a testament to how much Oikawa trusts him that Hajime is able to simply lean over and pluck it from his hands, checking the screen himself.

It’s a text from Oikawa’s parents, a list of cleaning tasks they want to be done before they get home, with thinly veiled threats of punishment for failure and implications that, somehow, Oikawa has already failed. Pissed, Hajime clicks the backlight off, puts Oikawa’s phone in his own bag to keep Oikawa from dwelling on it, and hands Oikawa the milk bread he’d brought for them to split, not bothering to break it in half.

It’s quiet, no jokes are being swapped, and Hajime’s glad. Oikawa’s delicate right now, and Hajime feels as if a stiff breeze will sway him to tears.  Still, Oikawa’s long fingers wrap around the bread and he unwraps it, taking a small bite. It’s reassuring, since Oikawa can’t eat at all when he’s actually genuinely breaking down. 

Hajime glances over, and Makki starts a conversation immediately about something inane in their classes, and Oikawa’s drawn into it inevitably. Hajime doesn’t bother to contribute or pay much attention at all. He wants to pull Oikawa close and trace the path of his spine with his fingers, wants to nose along the line of his jaw and breath in the sweet scent of Oikawa’s shampoo where it lingers just behind his ear. 

He can’t though, because he would never make Oikawa uncomfortable, never do anything that would push him away…and something like that would. Oikawa’s scared of so much, and it’s the stares and snide comments that break him the most. 

Hajime has been keeping as much of it as possible from him for years, because as hard as Oikawa tries, he’s never been seen as completely straight by pretty much anyone. As far as the latest gossip train goes, everyone just assumes he’s bi. 

(Hajime has had the privilege of one too many drunk nights alone with him, though, and knows he’s as into girls as he is into basketball, which is to say not at all.)

So it’s comforting, knowing that as heavily as Oikawa will flirt, Hajime doesn’t have to worry about losing him. It’s probably why he’s not jealous. The few guys brave enough to show interest have been shunted aside by the fangirls anyway, and Oikawa’s flighty nature meant he’s never had more than three seconds of interaction with any of them. 

(Here, anxiety and flightiness mean the same thing.)

For now, Hajime will settle with sitting a little closer, letting his knee press to Oikawa’s thigh, and they stay. He lets the words drift over him, and the tone of Oikawa’s voice is a soothing sound. 

***

The rest of the day drags by in a sluggish blur, and it’s not until afternoon practice that Hajime sees Oikawa again, as the overachiever is in a higher class. As captain, Oikawa is all bravado and smiles, but something feels wrong. 

Oikawa’s fucking up his serves, but it’s not until he lands a little hard that Hajime realizes not only is he being reckless enough to fuck up that knee again, he’s on the verge of fucking tears and has been the entire time. 

Shit. 

Hajime dismisses the rest of the team to drills, and under Mattsun and Makki’s combined shepherding and his own intimidation factor, no one protests. Oikawa may be captain, but Hajime is vice, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let the captain get himself pulled from the court before they even play an official match that season. 

He takes Oikawa’s arm, pulling him toward the showers, once again ignoring his mumbled protests. It’s almost deja vu, the way he’s pulling back at the hold, insisting he’s fine. 

“You’re not,” Hajime says shortly. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, but I’m not gonna let you take it out on yourself. You’re done for today.”

Oikawa plants his feet, or at least tries. Before he can get enough leverage to yank back, Hajime pulls him forward and off balance, turning to face him.

“Oikawa,” he says, trying hard for the patience he feels waning to stay steady. “You’re not okay right now. You’re not being careful. You’re gonna fuck up your knee and get yourself benched, is that what you want?”

Oikawa flinches at the reprimand, and Hajime closes his eyes, taking a steadying breath and trying again, lowering his tone to something more soothing. “Look, I care about you. You know that. You’ve practiced enough today, okay? We’re gonna get you showered and changed and then you can yell at us from the bench, and correct all of our mistakes like the capable captain you are. It’s  _ okay _ , Oikawa. Nobody is gonna think you’re weak.”

Oikawa’s head hangs a little, but he nods and lets Hajime lead him again, so it’s enough. Hajime will have to repair the damage he’d just done later, and he wants to kick himself, because he knows the way he went about it – while normally something Oikawa would laugh at and then battle – isn’t something Oikawa can handle right now. 

Unfortunately, Oikawa will not be able to deal with it until they’re at his house later, so Hajime will just have to keep an eye on him until then and make sure he doesn’t do anything even more reckless than endangering his entire dream career. 

Again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first time i've posted a chapter without comments on the previous one lol but whatever, have at it. maybe this fandom's quieter? idk, enjoy. the title song (boys will be boys by benny) might as well be the soundtrack to oikawa's life atm oops. didn't think of it while writing, i always find my songs after, but damn does it fit.


	4. some things just make sense, and one of those is you and i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> y'all. guys, i love this chapter _so much._ you don't understand, guys. _so much,_ it is my crowning achievment as a writer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title cred to paramore :)  
> consider the entire song an accidental anthem for this chapter lol oops

It sucks, seeing Oikawa cry. It’s probably one of the worst things Hajime’s ever experienced. 

He’s still beautiful, but heartbreakingly so when his nose is red and his eyes are rimmed in the same shade, when his cheeks are glossy with tears and there’s that crease between his brows that shows up when he’s upset. 

Hajime hands him tissue after tissue, uncaring of how messily Oikawa is sprawled on his bed. They’d taken two steps inside Oikawa’s house and he’d burst into tears, so Hajime had led him right back out and next door to his own house. His parents were both working later, so no one was there to see him break down but Hajime. 

And that’s how Oikawa liked it, because anyone else would scramble over him with pity and worry and all those things that kind of just make it worse. Hajime’s calm, because he knows that’s what Oikawa needs, and he combs his fingers through Oikawa’s curls and ruins that perfect style, massages Oikawa’s back with his other hand, only pausing to pass over tissues and knock used ones into the trash. 

Oikawa’s been at this for almost twenty minutes now, and though he’s slowed some, he doesn’t seem to be stopping. Hajime’s gonna run out of tissues. 

“Oikawa,” he tries, but Oikawa just breaks into another sob. 

He bites his lip, debating, and going out on a limb. “Tooru?”

Oikawa’s breath catches. 

“Tooru,” he says again, softer, keeping his voice steady even though using his given name like this is intimate beyond belief and it makes his heart flutter, “you’re okay. It’s okay. I’m here, and they can’t hurt you right now.”

Oikawa inhales in a thick sniffle, sharp, lifting his head up and scrubbing at his cheeks. It’s time to talk, Hajime knows, so he doesn’t say anything else. He leans back against his headboard, lets his hands fall to rest on Oikawa’s hips, and waits patiently as Oikawa cleans up his face and blows his nose some more.

Oikawa’s movements go hesitant once he discards the tissues, and then he shifts, slow, careful, as he lifts himself up and drapes a leg on either side of Hajime’s thighs. Hajime has to work very hard to keep his own breathing from catching, to keep calm, when Oikawa’s slowly and unsurely sitting back down, like he doesn’t know if it’s okay to be doing this.

And it  _ is, _ it feels more right and more real than anything, and it’s lovely. Hajime lets his thumbs slide to rest on Oikawa’s hips, gently massaging the ridges of them through the thin fabric of Oikawa’s fancy button-down shirt of the day. He lets his eyes raise to Oikawa’s, searching for some clue to what he’s feeling, because for all the years they’ve known each other and the way Oikawa’s fingers can say a thousand words in a twitch…this is something new, something foreign.

Oikawa meets his gaze fearlessly, and there are lingering, jewel-like droplets clinging to his lashes, and Hajime knows if he touches them, those high cheekbones will feel sticky with salt. Still, his mouth is set in a stubborn almost-pout, and he’s doing that thing with his jaw that always makes Hajime’s heart do a stupid little dance in his chest, because determined Oikawa is incredibly hot. 

“This isn’t wrong,” Oikawa says, and the force behind it is built from years of internal battling, of tears and pleads and nights spent crying into Hajime’s shoulder with the  _ X-Files _ on as white noise in the background. “This isn’t wrong. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Oh, fucking  _ hell _ , Hajime’s not prepared for this. He swallows, nods, tries to hold as steady as he can when his heart is fucking racing. They’re on the edge of a precipice, and unlike usual, Hajime’s not actually certain if Oikawa will chicken out and pull back before they fall.

“It’s okay,” Oikawa says, softer but no less determined, “to want this. They’re wrong. I’m not...I’m not broken.”

“Fuck,” Hajime breathes, because there’s an inch less of a gap between them and he’d having a really, really difficult time focusing on Oikawa’s slowly dawning sexual acceptance and not on just staring at his mouth. “O-of course there isn’t,” he confirms, and his voice shakes slightly so he clears his throat and tries again with a blush in his cheeks, confident this time around.

Oikawa blinks, and then his eyes, hypnotic in intensity, drift down to rest on Hajime’s lips.

His brain short circuits, fizzles out with a  _ pop _ and lets his jaw loosen, parting his lips with an exhale of half-formed, unsaid prayer. He’s no longer sure if his hands have stayed above the shirt or if he’s already pushed one beneath it, and though he’s been longing for  _ years _ to feel Oikawa’s soft skin like this, he can’t focus much on it when they’re  _ this fucking close _ to kissing.

The gap gets smaller by excruciatingly slow increments, and Hajime’s barely breathing, trying to keep himself still when all he wants to do is surge forward. Oikawa’s exploring, it’s clear as day on his face now, and his hands drift up to Hajime’s face, touching his cheek, his jaw, like it’s the very first time.

“I think I want to kiss you,” Oikawa breathes when it’s getting hard to keep him in focus. “I think I’m going to.”

Hajime’s about six seconds from spontaneous combustion, and he’s never been more grateful for his own self-control than he is in this very moment, because Oikawa needs this, needs to do this himself without any pressure, and Hajime won’t take that away from him. Even if it means the torture of feeling Oikawa’s breath dust his own mouth, of only closing his eyes when Oikawa’s too close to properly see, and still waiting, hovering on the cusp of something huge as Oikawa pauses.

He might be breathing too fast, and somehow though he feels like the pounding of his heart should block out everything else, he can hear even the slightest shift as Oikawa’s fingers flex and then settle on his jaw. He can hear as Oikawa’s other hand moves down to press into the sheets for support, hear the fabric of his shirt slide against his skin, hear the sound of his breathing and the slight hitches in it.

It’s almost sensory overload, almost too much, and he can’t help the way his hands tighten on Oikawa’s hips any more than he can help the stutter in his own pulse. 

He thinks, absently, that if Oikawa decides to not and to pull away, he might just die. Right here, on his bed, in the remains of his school uniform not yet shed on the walk home, with his lifelong crush straddling his thighs and putting every single thread of his willpower to the line.

And then Oikawa lets out the softest, breathiest sigh, and the gap is gone, and the brush of his lips is featherlight and silk soft. Hajime’s control snaps, and one of his hands flies up to cup his jaw as he presses forward, returning the kiss. He manages to keep it slow, to let Oikawa have most of the control, even if it’s simultaneously a dream come true and the worst fucking suspense he’s ever experienced. 

Well, until Oikawa pulls back just enough to speak, and his lips brush Hajime’s as the words form. “Well? Aren’t you gonna kiss me like you mean it? You’ve been waiting for this.”

He makes a sound, and it might have been a groan and it might have been a curse, but he doesn’t know or care. It rushes up from the back of his throat, half-growl, and he splays a hand on Oikawa’s lower back before he can stop himself. “I need you to push me away if it gets too much,” Hajime says, strained. “I need you to tell me to stop the moment you get uncomfortable. Promise me.”

Oikawa’s laugh is breathless and just a shade anxious. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, Hajime, please don’t hold back. I’ll stop you if you  _ do _ .”

The way his name sounds on Oikawa’s tongue sends a wave of heat through every vein in his body, and he uses the hand on Oikawa’s back to pull him as close as possible, the other burying in the hair on the back of his head to pull him in for a fiery, messy kiss that Hajime’s been craving since he knew what it was to want to kiss anyone.

Sure, he’s kissed people before, and he’s no longer a virgin, but it had all been for the sake of the experience, not for emotion. This, though? This is both, a heady combination of lust and love and coming home that means Hajime’s only able to process wave after wave of  _ Oikawa, _ of the way he breathes out the tiniest little gasps and sighs, of the way his hands haven’t stopped running over Hajime’s arms, long fingers sliding over his shoulders and leaving fire in their wake. Oikawa still smells like fancy cologne and that sweetly scented body wash he gets fucking imported, and it’s intoxicating. His skin feels like heaven under Hajime’s hands, and this is undisputedly the best day of Hajime’s life.

Time passes, but Hajime does not feel it, not until they’re both breathless, with kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, and Oikawa’s on his back on the bed and looking up at Hajime like he’s hung the fucking stars in the sky with the moon itself as a gift. He’s so stunningly, heart-stoppingly gorgeous like that, with bright eyes and pink cheeks and bitten lips, that Hajime can’t do anything but stare as he hovers above, propped on one elbow, the other hand somewhere by Oikawa’s waist.

And then Oikawa  _ smiles _ , warm and real, and his dimples appear, and Hajime’s chest fills with such love and light and warmth so quickly that it tears his breath from his lungs. 

He knows, in that moment, that however many years will pass and how many seasons will change and how many others he’ll meet, this is the man he wants to marry. This is the person he wants to wake up to, tomorrow and every day for the rest of his life, and this is the face he wants to see every night before he closes his eyes. He wants to see the way the years age them together, wants to know if Oikawa ever gets that Shiba Inu he wants so badly, if he gives it a ridiculous name so he can’t say it without giggling, if he smiles like this next year and in fifty years. It’s less because of the kiss, and more because Hajime’s spent the last twelve years memorizing every aspect of Oikawa he can, learning new things every day, and meeting Oikawa over and over again as he grows and blossoms, and he never, ever wants to stop.

“You’re staring, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathes, soft and sweet, and Hajime brings the hand on his waist to brush over his cheek, delicate because Oikawa is every bit the best thing that has ever happened to him.

“I am,” Hajime agrees, gentle, not bothering to pretend otherwise. “You’re beautiful.”

Oikawa’s blush blooms hot and bright over his cheeks and Hajime falls for him all over again, even harder this time, and he can only lean down and bury his face in Oikawa’s neck before he gets overwhelmed.

Oikawa laughs breathlessly, and his hand slides into Hajime’s hair, carding through the strands, and it feels heavenly. He closes his eyes, breathing in the warmth of him, the solidity of Oikawa’s body beneath his, the reality of the moment and that this isn’t just a fantasy, a dream. 

After a moment, Oikawa prods at his shoulder insistently, so he lifts his head with a hum.

Oikawa looks horribly amused, and Hajime braces for what’s likely gonna be a terrible joke. “I gotta pee.”

Hajime snorts, steals another kiss from his lips and rolls off, pushing a hand back through his hair (not in any effort to fix it, because it’s not like he does any styling further than towel-drying after showering). Oikawa lays, not yet moving, a hand touching his lips in a sort of dazed surprize, and Hajime can’t help but smile.

He does get up eventually for the bathroom, and it takes him longer than usual, so much so that Hajime rolls off the bed and goes to knock on the door to investigate.

Oikawa opens it easily enough, and though Hajime had been half-braced for tears and heartbreak, he’s smiling. It’s a little award and nervous, and all cute, and he’s blushing again, so whatever distracted him clearly wasn’t something bad.

“I, um.” Oikawa says, laughing nervously and gesturing to the mirror helplessly. “I dunno. I couldn’t stop staring at how different I look. You kissed me and now I’m like, like a new person.”

Hajime pulls his eyes from a bashful Oikawa’s reflection back to the real him, cupping his cheek and feeling a smile so wide spread until his cheeks are just shy of aching. “You’re gorgeous,” he says, because it’s the first thought that comes to mind. “Like this, when your mouth is still red, and in the morning when your hair’s a mess and you don’t have your contacts in yet, and when you’re all sweaty and gross after practice. When you’re crying, when you’re laughing, when you’re yelling at me because I made you stop working and when you’re asleep.”

Oikawa’s got that look on his face again, the one made of unadulterated awe and wonder, and Hajime’s so privileged to not only  _ see _ it, but to be the one to put it there in the first place. There’s a part of him that wishes this wasn’t such a shocking notion to Oikawa, but it’s soothed by the glow that’s floating in an aura around Oikawa right now. 

“I am?” Oikawa breathes, hands circling loosely around Hajime’s wrist like he’s afraid it’ll pull away.

Hajime brings up his other hand, cupping the other side of his face. “You are,” he assures. “And I’ve always thought so. Now, if you decide you’d like me to kiss you, I’ll do my best to show you what I see.”

Oikawa nods as much as he can in the frame of Hajime’s hands, excited, so Hajime kisses him again. 

It’s a little weird, because Hajime’s used to kissing people shorter than he is, but it’s Oikawa, so Hajime doesn’t care. So he has to tilt his head back slightly, and pull Oikawa in; big deal. He really doesn’t care, he’s never been one to agree with height being tied to self-worth or importance or masculinity (another thing he doesn’t care about, but as a concept in entirety rather than a notion).

He’s sure Makki and Mattsun will tease, but it’s all in good fun, and they tease him anyway for being the shortest of them. It’s why he takes such pride in arm wrestling them into submission, ‘cause his pride is perfectly intact when all he has to do to win an argument is raise an arm and flex his hand and tell whoever to fight him.

Oikawa’s always liked watching him fight, and when his hands are back on Hajime’s arms, Hajime realizes it’s probably because Oikawa’s got a fucking  _ thing _ for them.

It’s such a pleasing thought that he can’t help but drop his hands to grab Oikawa’s thighs and lift him up, setting him on the bathroom counter. Oikawa makes a noise that’s something like surprised hunger and immediately kisses him harder, pulling him closer and wrapping his legs around Hajime’s waist, hands tugging at his arms until Hajime’s wrapped them around him and Oikawa can feel the flexing with a hand on each bicep.

It’s incredibly sexy as well as incredibly good for his self-esteem, and it would probably have escalated a lot farther had Hajime not just barely caught the sound of the front door closing. Breathless, he breaks the kiss, shushing Oikawa helplessly as he whines in protest. The hushing is half laughter, because he can’t help but think of the beautiful oddity of their situation.

Oikawa’s lanky frame is up on the bathroom counter, and he looks even more thoroughly debauched, and Hajime’s standing between his legs with a hand on each thigh as they listen to Hajime’s parents putter around downstairs, unaware their son and the boy that might as well be a second kid were moments away from shedding the clothes off of each other.

Oikawa laughs, coming to the same realization, because they both remember the laughing comments of never letting girls in their rooms with the doors anything but open, of propriety and waiting for marriage and all the other nonsense, and here they are, left alone all the time together behind locked doors. Oikawa’s giggling cheek presses against the top of his head, and he closes his eyes, still laughing himself, warmed. 

“A-All those missed opportunities,” Oikawa manages, fighting back peals of more giggles. “All those years, and I finally kiss you a-and your fucking  _ parents _ come home.”

“And your house is next door,  _ empty, _ ” Hajime adds, and they dissolve into laughter all over again, holding onto each other, and it feels every bit like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've never written something so easily, so fluffy, or so fucking close to outright steamy before. goes to show I work best without planning lmao, bc this entire thing was written almost entirely in one sitting as a stream-of-consciousness sort of thing. anyway, enjoy, because this was actually really, really enjoyable to write.


	5. i don't mind if you lie in my bed, we can stay here forever now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this gets p steamy ngl but it's never really xxx explicit lol it'll never really be since i can't write that atm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuing my trend of trying new things have another chapter where they mess around. enjoy? lol idk, it was easy to write when hajime's the one i'm writing from
> 
> title cred to hedley!

They don’t go downstairs until neither of them have any obvious flushed cheeks or red lips, and Oikawa even fixes his hair meticulously while Hajime leans against the doorway and watches, unashamed because he’s allowed to stare now. It’s the little things that have changed in the past few hours, but it’s those things that mean the most. He’s allowed now to give into his wants, like slipping a hand onto Oikawa’s hip and pressing a kiss to his neck, like holding him close as they talk, like playing with his hair when the silence gets comfortable. 

Like now, when he can come closer and press a kiss to Oikawa’s shoulders and slot an arm around his waist, and Oikawa’s cheeks go that pretty pink all over again, and Hajime’s chest feels warm.

“Dinner’s soon,” Oikawa protests weakly, even as he turns to face him. “And I can’t go down there looking like you’ve just ravished me. Again.”

Hajime laughed. “Relax, Shittykawa. I’m not planning on it right now, I just like kissing you, and I can. So I will. I’m not gonna try in front of my parents, don’t worry.”

Oikawa relaxes a little, nodding, and shifting to check the part in his hair for the fifteenth time.

“Stop it,” Hajime says, reaching up and batting his hands away. “You look beautiful, like always. They won’t be able to tell, I promise.”

Oikawa sighs, and pretends like he’s not still blushing, though Hajime’s almost positive he’s always had some kind of praise kink and is only just now figuring it out himself. It’s stupidly endearing, but a lot of Oikawa’s weird little quirks are, and this is barely brushing the surface of them. Hajime even likes when he gets all bug-eyed and stares at the recorded matches like they’re the single most important things in the world, bundled in a blanket cocoon with those giant headphones over his ears.

***

Dinner goes smoothly like always, and neither of Hajime’s parents are even remotely surprised to see Oikawa following him down the stairs. There’s usually a fourth place setting out even when he’s  _ not _ here, because it’s so much easier to just assume he is and be right than to have to constantly be getting it out after the food’s ready. 

Oikawa gets the same daily questions as Hajime does, like how school was and how the team is and if his homework was difficult at all, etcetera. He eats it up like he always does, and Hajime lets him bask in the attention like he always does, eating quietly and smiling at his mother when she glances over, already grinning herself. Oikawa’s mood is even brighter and warmer than usual.

Hajime may or not be a little proud of the reason why, especially since he fully intends on walking Oikawa next door to get a fresh supply of his clothes and accidentally getting very distracted for a while before they return again. They killed time doing all their homework earlier, and it’s blessedly Friday, so there’s no pressure to be home early or even asleep until dawn if they so choose. Hajime’s parents trust him to take care of both himself and Oikawa, so he could very well up and go to a party after dinner if he wanted, but there’s none that he knows of and he wants this sober anyways.

He wants this to be theirs, however, something private and quiet and just between the two of them. Fuck Oikawa’s fan club, fuck those petty, annoying rivals of his, and fuck the alcohol that makes him a sloppy flirt. This is Hajime’s moment, and he will lay his damn claim to it and ask Oikawa out properly. 

Not tonight, but like. Soon. 

Tonight is just time to fuck around and see how far he can get Oikawa’s blush to spread. 

***

Oikawa’s unfairly beautiful when he’s on his back, cheeks flushed, hair a halo of loose curls, and bruises courtesy of Hajime’s mouth scattered over his chest.

It’s the memory of this image that Hajime wakes to, and he grins. Oikawa’s slept over, of course, and he’s forgone the futon on the floor to share the bed with Hajime. Hajime’s door is locked, so he isn’t worried about being walked in on, and even if it wasn’t, his parents won’t open the door without knocking and waiting for a reply first.

This means Hajime’s free to trail his fingers along Oikawa’s bared back, the sheets pushed away in his sleep and his shirt never even on in the first place. He lets his fingertips brush each ridge of Oikawa’s spine, light and careful. He wants to memorize the texture of his skin, the soft curl of his hair, the shadows his lashes cast on his cheeks, the scent of his cologne as it clings to his neck.

This isn’t permanent, though, Hajime knows the morning will end and they will have to face the world, and that will mean Oikawa putting on his shirt and his mask, and for all the world they will be best friends and nothing more. But maybe, behind these closed doors, when Oikawa needs him most, they can hold each other close again. Hajime hopes so, and not just because sex with Oikawa is a kind of experience unlike any other, one he doesn’t have the metaphors or similes to express.

Oikawa’s teetering, balancing on a knife’s edge of okay and very much not, and Hajime’s doing all he can to keep them both steady. it’s scary, trying to fight the things he can’t see that sit in Oikawa’s head and chew at his thoughts, but he will do his best. Oikawa will need to win the battle himself, but that has never meant he’s fighting alone.

Oikawa stirs, and it shift Hajime's train of thought away until all he’s thinking of is how pretty the warm brown of Oikawa’s eyes are when the sun hits them, how they light up copper and how Oikawa blinks so gently.

“What time is it?” Oikawa breathes.

“No idea,” Hajime admits, tracing a curl on Oikawa’s forehead until the end, and nudging it back into place when he’s done. “Midmorning, probably. The sun doesn’t fill your room this much until ten or so.”

Oikawa’s eyes shift from him to his planetary curtains, the ones he got at age nine and refuses to change because the stars in the fabric glow in the dark. He rolls onto his back, lazy, sheets caught around his hips. “True.”

Hajime leans down from where he’s been propped on one arm, mouthing at the column of Oikawa’s neck, bared when his head shifted. Oikawa laughs, and Hajime can feel the vibration under his lips.

“Good morning to you too!” Oikawa chirps, pleasant. “Did you sleep well?”

Hajime ignores him in favor of licking a stripe down to his collarbone and then lazily biting down, sliding his free hand over Oikawa’s hip. Oikawa, being Oikawa, does not shut the fuck up. “Because  _ I _ slept great, personally. My bed’s just so superior, you know?”

Hajime rolls his eyes, sucks a little, and moves along, closer to his shoulder, where it’ll be easily hidden by his uniform. Then he bites down again, harder this time, and works on sucking a pretty bruise into Oikawa’s soft, flawless skin.

Oikawa’s hand cards through his hair, but that’s all the acknowledgement he gets. “I keep telling you your mattress is bad for your back, but I’ve heard sleeping on the floor is  _ good _ for you, and that’s what your bed feels like. Maybe it  _ is _ good, just terrible to sit on and sleep on and even  _ worse _ for anything else. I bet it’d give me bruises!”

Hajime would argue back, but he’s actually kind of curious...how good is Oikawa at keep his concentration when Hajime’s mouth is trailing over him? He tests this theory, shoving the sheets off of himself and scooting down so he can drag kisses over Oikawa’s chest.

“But  _ noooo _ , Iwa-chan insists he knows better! And that  _ my _ bed is the bad one! As if!” Oikawa huffs, and Hajime wants to laugh, because while it fits the current monologue, Hajime’s also just passed over his nipple. He’s good, Hajime will give him that, and his bed is also a worn and old piece of shit that he  _ also _ won’t part with, mainly because he won’t ask his parents for anything anymore.

“The absurdity of that is obvious,” Oikawa says, and his hands are still carding through Hajime’s hair. “But I’m the smart one, right? Iwa-chan’s the brawn, and I’m the pretty brains!”

Hajime ignores the egging, already down by Oikawa’s stomach. Volleyball is a great sport, partially because all the practice means Oikawa’s got a very nice stomach, and Hajime can trace his tongue over his abs. Oikawa’s a stubborn shit, so he keeps talking like this is totally normal, and Hajime honestly can’t admit he expected anything else.

“We should get shirts. Brawn and brains! I bet Makki and Mattsun would help, and they’d laugh too, because I’m  _ funny _ . I’m hilarious, Iwa-chan! You should laugh at my jokes more often, I waste so many good puns on you!” Oikawa’s hands are carding a little faster through his hair, but that’s his only tell. Hajime pulls the sheets out of the way, and moves onto one of Oikawa’s thighs.

“Like, you didn’t laugh at my dog pun the other day! That was a  _ great _ joke, and all you did was punch me! Everyone else was laughing!” Oikawa’s indignant, which is cute because Hajime’s very close to his dick and yet he’s also ignoring that, and he knows Oikawa well enough to know he’s purposefully shaping this one-sided conversation to something he can be indignant about right now.

Hajime bites gently into his inner thigh, and he’s not at all surprised when Oikawa shifts and spreads his legs a little. Hajime shifts to move between them and nudges them farther apart to do so, making sure his hands are just barely close enough on Oikawa’s other thigh to piss him off even more.

Oikawa’s breath stutters. “Iwa-chan’s such a bully,” he says, and it’s a little breathless. “You could stand to be nicer to me, you know. I’m pretty and funny and charming, and I don’t deserve any of this.”

Hajime smirks, letting Oikawa feel it by keeping his mouth on his thigh. Oikawa’s breath stutters again, and his hands ball in the sheets, flexing. Hajime’s not going to give him shit until he reacts, though, so he goes back to calmly mouthing along, teasing.

Oikawa’s blush is all the way down to his chest by now, and if Hajime was paying attention to him, he’d get to see how beautiful it is on his cheeks, but this is a game he’s determined to win. He keeps his focus on stroking Oikawa’s hips, mouthing at his other thigh now, guiding Oikawa’s legs as he pleases. Oikawa’s finally given up on talking, but he’s holding back his pretty voice entirely now.

Hajime bites down, and starts working in another bruise, and Oikawa’s breath rushes out in a little sigh. Hajime hears the smallest whine, and he finally looks up, meeting Oikawa’s eyes.

Oikawa’s pouting, which Hajime kind of expected. “Mean,” he breathes, stubborn.

Shrugging slightly, he looks away again and concentrates on making this hickey a dark one.

Oikawa’s breathing picks up, and it’s only when he pulls away from the spot that he gets another whine, and he looks back up. The pout has intensified, and Oikawa’s lower lip is glossy, so Hajime knows he’d been chewing on it to keep silent. Since he’s not the one being teased, he could do this all day, so he simply moves a little lower and starts another hickey.

He feels the moment Oikawa’s control shatters, because Oikawa shivers and then his head tips back and he moans, high and sweet, and that’s when Hajime finally puts his mouth to good use.

***

Needless to say, things are very much not the same when they get back to school for practice Monday morning. The weekend had been nothing but them declining plans and just fucking around, usually quite literally, in Oikawa’s empty house. Hajime knows Oikawa’s gonna be tugging at his shorts without realizing today, since Hajime left no fewer than six hickeys on his thighs and another three on his chest, and he’s gonna have a hard time changing without anyone seeing.

He’d gotten permission before leaving them yesterday, since he knew they’d be hard to hide when everyone’s showering in the locker room. Oikawa had let him with nothing more than a laugh and a nod, and Hajime hopes he doesn’t regret it later.

He can’t bring himself to be too guilty, though, not when he now knows exactly which places to leave a hand that will make Oikawa lose his train of thought. He’s not going to tease too much, since Oikawa doesn’t want to be outed and Hajime’s not that cruel (to  _ anyone _ ), but Oikawa’s a little shit and Hajime’s sure he’s gonna get teased right back.

He gets that suspicion confirmed when they’re stretching before they start training and Oikawa does a full fucking split.

Makki snorts. “Feeling flexible today?”

Oikawa tosses his head with a sniff. “It’s good to be fully stretched, and sometimes I like to make sure I can still stretch this far. Don’t taunt because you’re jealous!”

Mattsun rolls his eyes, and it’s lazy like all of his expressions. “Trust me, he has no reason to be jealous.”

Makki’s eyebrows do a complicated little dance and he flexes, and Oikawa simply tosses his head again. Hajime rolls his eyes and stretches his other arm, leaving his gaze on Oikawa. Thankfully, he spends like 90% of his time looking after Oikawa, so his watching isn’t out of the ordinary. No one cares enough to realize his eyes are on Oikawa’s ass right now, so he doesn’t bother looking away.

Makki and Mattsun have now entered into some kind of flexing contest, and Hajime leaves them to it. They’re not actively annoying anyone else, so he doesn’t care. Oikawa’s much more interesting, especially since he’s moving into his second split, the other leg in front. 

He looks away once he’s done stretching and goes to shepherd the second and first years onto the court to set everything up, and he’s got them setting up the net by the time Oikawa drapes all over his side dramatically. 

“Makki and Mattsun are being mean to me!” He whines, tossing the back of his palm to his forehead and swooning slightly.

“You deserve it,” Hajime says, not even bothering to look as he pushes Oikawa away. “Like usual. Did you insult one of them?”

“I  _ maybe _ said Makki has an awful fashion sense, but he  _ does! _ ” Oikawa’s probably pouting, but since Hajime plants a hand directly over his face to push him away again, he can’t see it.

“Then you do deserve it. Figure out what drills we’re doing and be a good captain for once.” Hajime says, monotone.

Oikawa gasps, hand to his heart as he steps away from Hajime’s hands. “ _ I _ am a  _ wonderful _ captain, my kohai  _ adore _ me!”

Mattsun snorts from somewhere behind them “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

“If adoration is what we’re calling it, I’m a little concerned about what your definition of toleration is,” Makki says dryly, and Hajime has to peg a volleyball into Oikawa’s side to get him moving instead of just standing there dramatically pretending to be dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think! i am a desperate soul that enjoys when i get yelled at in the comments :D


	6. tell me please, tell me please, i need to know; is this what you call a family?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mm, this fic has a nice mood to it. it's easy to fall into and write, i rly like how it ended up flowing. no particular warnings yet, beyond what's obvious from the tags and previous chapters. title cred to sleeping with sirens because i've been sws trash for way too long to not use their shit.

The night Oikawa’s parents return, everything kind of goes to shit.

Oikawa calls him around two in the morning, crying so hard he can barely breathe, and it takes Hajime a really stressful fifteen minutes to talk him into sneaking out so Hajime can shove open his own window and pull him inside. Oikawa’s gorgeous face is red, sticky with tears, and his hands shake as he pulls himself over the windowsill so Hajime can pull him into a hug.

They sink to the floor, Oikawa’s face burying in Hajime’s neck, and Hajime holds him tight and strokes a hand through his hair, pressing kisses to every bit of Oikawa he can reach. It’s all the comforting he knows how to do, because he’s never been one for sweet nothings, and Oikawa’s never been one to fucking believe them.

Oikawa’s mumbling apologies, and it makes Hajime’s heart ache something fierce. He shushes Oikawa as best as he can, and closes his eyes, praying to things he isn’t sure he believes in to give Oikawa a fucking _break_ already and let him be _happy_ for once in his life.

Hajime eventually shifts both of them until he can scoop Oikawa’s lanky frame into his arms and carry him to the bed, tucking in beside him and wrapping around Oikawa as much as is physically possible, because he’ll be damned if he won’t try to be a shield from the world for just a little while, if not forever.

***

As it turns out, his parents had decided to come home and, instead of taking in the neatly cleaned house, instead asked Oikawa why he only had two applications out to university.

A fight had ensued, if it can be called a fight when it’s Oikawa’s parents tag-teaming their son to tears while he stammers and pleads to try and fix the problem. Hajime’s temper is riding high as a result, but he makes sure to treat Oikawa with nothing but gentle affection and love, because that’s what he fucking _deserves_.

They have another kid, his parents. Oikawa’s sister is older, graduated already from University with a kid of her own, who Oikawa loves to spoil and who loves volleyball as much as Oikawa does. His sister’s fucking perfect, according to Oikawa’s terrible parents, and Oikawa can never live up to her example and graduate early and find a nice wife and kids before he’s left his twenties.

Hajime’s still fucking pissed.

Oikawa’s showering, and he keeps a bag under Hajime’s bed with emergency supplies for a few days, so Hajime’s making damn fucking sure he’s not going to spend much time at home until he calms down. Currently, Hajime is regreasing his window’s side tracks, so it can slide up and close back down silently, and he’ll do Oikawa’s before they leave for school. He fully intends on having Oikawa sleepover as much as possible, and he’s gotten really good at figuring out how to make that possible without any parents getting in the way.

Not that Hajime’s would really care, especially if they knew what went on at the Oikawa household behind closed doors, but Hajime lets Oikawa keep his secrets without pushing. If he decides he wants out, Hajime will get him the help needed immediately. Right now, he is just barely starting to figure out that this kind of thing isn’t right, and that he’s not a bad person just because they try to make him feel bad.

This will go at Oikawa’s pace, always, whatever that pace may be, unless Oikawa is in some kind of danger. Unless that point comes into play, Hajime will continue to be the pillar Oikawa needs right now, and anything and anyone that tries to stop him can fuck right off.

***

The walk to school is tense. Oikawa’s shoulders are stiff, and he’s not walking with his normal feline grace. Instead, he is striding faster, more rigid than usual. If Oikawa didn’t have perfect attendance to worry about, Hajime would literally just make him skip. As it is, Hajime knows Oikawa’s parents will somehow find out and make their son even more miserable, so on they walk.

They have only a few more matches left before the end of the year, as well, and Oikawa’s keeping his captain status until the very end, so he won’t want to miss any practices. They can make it, Hajime tells himself, through the day. They can do this, they’ve done it before.

Makki says something Hajime doesn’t here when they finally reach the gym, and whatever it is makes Mattsun immediately punch him in the arm and Oikawa drop the keys in his hand.

The universe is cruel.

Hajime picks up the keys without breaking stride, hand on the small of Oikawa’s back to push him into walking again, passing the keys over. “Ignore it, whatever the fuck he said. Just ignore it.”

Oikawa’s cheeks are flushed, but he nods, unlocking the gym doors quickly and all but running inside once his shoes have been neatly removed.

“Set up!” he calls, cheeriness bright and only false to Hajime’s ears, same as the smile that spreads over Oikawa’s lips. As the younger students set up the gym for practice with Oikawa’s mother hen help, Hajime grabs Makki’s arm as he passes and drags until they’re getting the cart of volleyballs together.

“Tell me,” Hajime says conversationally, “What the fuck you said to him.”

“A joke,” Makki says, quiet. “I mean, it was meant to be? But he...I think he flinched.”

Hajime kicks the door to the supply closet closed. “Go on,” he says, and his temper is rising all over again. He knows it shows in his tone.

Makki frowns at him, since he’s never once been scared of Hajime and there’s no chance he’s going to start now. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just asked if he had a fun weekend, ‘cause there’s rumors going around that he hooked up with this girl at some party.”

Of course. Of _course_ , because Oikawa needs that kind of rumor going around right now.

Hajime rubs his face, suddenly exhausted by the petty bullshit of school life, by popularity and what it entails. Makki’s question was innocent, would’ve normally garnered nothing more than Oikawa’s immediate irritation and a quiz on who told him and where and when, because Makki’s way of protecting Oikawa is telling him the shit he hears as soon a she hears it.

Oikawa’s parents came back yesterday, though, and whatever niceness the weekend had begun with, it had ended in shattered remains on Hajime’s bedroom floor at 2am.

“For fuck’s sake,” Hajime mumbles, scrubbing his hands through his hair before exhaling and grabbing the volleyball pin. “Fine. I’ll handle it. It’s a thing with him, don’t worry about it.”

Makki nods slowly, pushing the door back open. “I’ll buy him milk bread at lunch. That’ll cheer him up, at least. I didn’t know anything went down.”

“It’s complicated,” Hajime says shortly, because he knows Oikawa doesn’t want _anyone_ knowing he’s anything less that a perfect child in a perfect family.

(Hajime has never been ‘anyone’ to Oikawa and likely never will be, and the thought makes him dizzyingly pleased.)

Thankfully, Makki lets the subject drop, and practice goes well, all things considered. Oikawa’s a little wound up, still, but it’s nothing that affects the way he plays or the way he handles his teammates, so Hajime lets it go for the moment.

***

By lunch, Oikawa’s mood has worsened. He takes Makki’s gift wordlessly, and he aims smiles at anyone who will look, and they’re plastic. He gently, _oh_ so gently turns down a girl’s confession, and comes back with an appropriately somber expression, and Hajime has enough.

He finishes the last of his lunch in three bites, puts everything away, and stand up, grabbing Oikawa’s bag and throwing it at him. Oikawa catches it without even blinking, so Hajime knows he’ll follow, and both of them wave goodbye to the rest of their lunch squad — the team, mainly, and people that tend to sit on the fringes to try and fuck around with ‘status’ or whatever it is these kids care about — and walk away.

Hajime leads him out of the main courtyard, towards the gyms, and they eventually find themselves sat against a little wall behind the basketball courts, watching the traffic on the distant highway. They’re blessedly, completely alone, no one in sight, and there’s still half an hour of lunch left.

Oikawa sighs, lifting his bag off his shoulder and moving it aside, movements slow and graceless. He blows out a breath as he moves, the sound frustrated,

Hajime watches him, worried. Oikawa’s tension is obvious now, sat in the angle of his jaw and the line of his shoulders, the way his hands pull at the grass and rip it to shreds over his lap. Hajime knows talking doesn’t help when Oikawa gets like this, and he also knows they’re out of view of literally anyone but, like, satellites in space maybe, so he reaches over to take Oikawa’s chin and pull him into a kiss.

Oikawa starts slightly, but before Hajime can pull back, he’s pressing forward, pressing in, kissing like his life depends on it. It’s fast, a little messy, and a lot frustrated, and Hajime meets him move for move to let him work out everything he’s feeling. Oikawa’s hands press against him, fingers digging into his skin almost painfully, so he pushes back until Oikawa tips onto his back, and then it’s short work of pinning his hands down in the grass.

He doesn’t break the kiss, and he’s glad Oikawa’s always so stubbornly quiet whenever things get heated, because it means he doesn’t need to worry about any kind of noisy reaction even as Oikawa arches up to him in reply. This isn’t about sex, though, or really even about pleasure, it’s about Oikawa being able to bite and push and pull to his heart’s content without needing to worry about damaging himself or anything else. Hajime lets them go on for twenty of the thirty minutes they have to spend, and he only pulls back then because he knows appearances matter to Oikawa.

And currently, Oikawa’s stunning, laying in the grass with leaves in his hair and a blush on his cheeks, lips red and plump and eyes warm. His walls are down, and he smiles, small but sincere, and Hajime’s heart swells until it feels as if it’ll break right out of his ribcage if it beats any faster.

He’s so, _so_ ridiculously in love with this boy.

“Better?” He asks, reaching over to start the process of pulling plant life off of Oikawa’s clothes and hair.

Oikawa nods, sitting up and straightening his blazer. “Yeah. Thanks, I...that never occurred to me, but. It helped. A lot.”

“There are many things that don’t occur to you,” Hajime says, nudging Oikawa’s coiffed curls back into place and grinning at the immediate affronted look he receives for his efforts.

“Rude,” Oikawa says, pouty, but he lets Hajime brush the dirt off his back and helps knock it off Hajime’s knees.

“Think you’ll be okay for the rest of today?” Hajime asks, ignoring Oikawa’s reply entirely. “At least until after school?”

Oikawa sighs again, but it’s a lot more relaxed than it was when they’d arrived. “Yeah. I need to figure out who started that _nasty_ rumor about me, and then make sure it never happens again, but yeah. I’ll be okay.”

“Good,” Hajime presses a kiss to his forehead. “Just make to to practice without killing anyone, ‘cause you know you’ll need my help hiding a body, since you’ll be busy crying about how you’re too pretty to go to jail.”

“I _am_ ,” Oikawa says instantly, and it’s a playful whine, and it’s relieving because if he can banter back, he’s genuinely fine.

Hajime rolls his eyes, flicks Oikawa on the nose, and helps gather their things up so they can walk back and make it to their classes on time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me watchu think, i live for it. also, would y'all be interested in original work from me?


	7. i just wanna be, just let me be worth your time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for a more in depth acknowledgment of abuse and the things it does, which will likely get more and more prevalent from here on out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well i'm sorry - real friends

Nationals were a dream, really. A dream that Oikawa poured his all into, a dream he fought tooth and nail for, and  dream those fucking Karosuno kids ripped away from them with their ever-adapting team and those twerps with their fucking super move. Hajime really wants to hate them, he really does. He could’ve done so much been, been such a better ace, a better man, the kind of player Oikawa deserves on his team, but… 

He’s honestly more upset that losing, that coming back to Aoba Johsai and hearing one last speech from their coach, that walking home so slowly together, that all of it was Oikawa on autopilot, and that right now, he is a sobbing mess on the floor in Hajime’s arms.

He’s crying so hard he can barely breathe, and Hajime’s glad his parents took his advice and went to dinner without them, because it means he doesn’t need to shush Oikawa’s wails and Oikawa doesn’t need to panic over being heard. Instead, hajime holds onto him and lets him scream his frustration to the world, lets him cry and yell and kick his legs until his energy runs out and he lies, gasping, with flushed sticky cheeks and trembling hands.

Hajime cried, too, because losing fucking sucks and this is something they’d been busting their asses towards for years and yet it’s slipped away, dancing out of reach, taunting them with  _ never been good enough _ and  _ never will be _ , and it hurts. It feels like hell.

Oikawa, however, is on an entirely different level, since this must feel like a confirmation to him. The mere idea of that makes Hajime’s stomach turn, so he pulls Oikawa in even closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re amazing,” he breathes.

Oikawa snorts, the sound wet and exhausted. “I’m terrible. I’m an awful captain, I’m a mess, I was so stupid to think that I could do  _ any _ of this right.”

Hajime’s entire chest feels hollowed out, because between losing the match and Oikawa’s turmoil, it’s like someone took a melon baller and just scooped his heart right the fuck out, piece by annoyingly round piece. “Tooru,” he says, and it’s all he can say before his voice breaks.

Oikawa twists, mumbling a protest and curling into Hajime’s chest, even more tears soaking into the already damp fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he says, his own voice shattering on the apology. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He says it again, and again, faster and faster, and Hajime hugs him as close as he can, tugging and shifting them both until he is wrapped around Oikawa as much as possible, because he is nothing if not determined to hold him together through this. “It’s not your fault,” Hajime insists, trying to interrupt the mantra Oikawa’s picked up. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were an amazing captain, we were an amazing team, Karasuno is just…”

“Better,” Oikawa finishes weakly.

Hajime can’t even reply, because it would either be confirmation or a lie. Instead, he buries his face in Oikawa’s hair, inhaling the coconut of his shampoo and trying to wish this day away.

***

It’s a shitty night.

Oikawa goes home, lasts all of ten minutes, comes crawling back through Hajime’s window in tears all over again and ends up sobbing himself to sleep in Hajime’s arms. Hajime himself stays up, but only because he’s so goddamn livid with Oikawa’s parents for daring to make him feel  _ worse _ that he’s seething too much to close his eyes. Instead, he strokes Oikawa’s hair, and thinks about ways to start a conversation that’s probably been years in the making. 

He doesn’t fall asleep until almost four in the morning, and it’s a goddamn miracle that they don’t have school in the morning.

***

“Tooru,” Hajime says, soft, when they’re alone in his house again and sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, picking at a plate of fruit. “Tooru, I don’t want you going home today.”

Oikawa won’t look up, which is not a good sign, and he pulls apart a paper towel instead of replying, turning the little shreds into a mountain under his fingers. Hajime takes a slow, measured breath, sitting a little straighter and trying again. “Tooru,” he says, trying to aim for something even softer. “Look at me, please?”

It takes a moment, but slowly, Oikawa’s big brown eyes lift to his, and his long lashes are clumped together with unshed tears. “I have to,” Oikawa says, barely audible.

“You don’t.” Hajime says, firm. “You really, really don’t. You have shit here, and your parents are leaving in two days. You can stay with me until then, and we’ll go get your shit when they’re gone. I’m serious. I don’t want you back in that fucking house so they can tear you apart again.”

Oikawa flinches, and Hajime winces. Still, Oikawa’s voice holds steady at first, if still quiet. “They’re my parents, Iwa-chan. I have to go back. They’ll be mad if I don’t, i-if I don’t get all the c-cleaning done.”

The hesitation makes Hajime’s usual rage toward the two children masquerading as parental figures in Oikawa’s life burn even hotter. He has to lay his hands flat on the table and take a steadying breath before he can reply, because he’s not mad at Oikawa and Oikawa deserves the world, not Hajime’s clipped tone and high temper. “Tooru,” he says again, because Oikawa’s far more likely to listen if Hajime uses his given name, because he knows it’s Important. “Your parents are not good people. THis is not how family is supposed to work, that’s not how you’re supposed to feel. You’re not supposed to dread going home, or be scared of coming out of your room. That’s wrong. That’s…”

Oikawa swallows audibly, and looks away, and Hajime forces himself to continue. He’s never said it aloud, neither of them have, but Hajime knows they both know it. “Tooru, this is abuse.”

Oikawa flinches again, dropping what’s left of the paper towel as he shoves away from the table, standing abruptly. He doesn’t go anywhere, though, and he’s standing like a cornered animal, tense and unsure and braced for danger.

Hajime stays seated, laying his hands palm up on the table and within Oikawa’s reach. “Tooru,” he says again, and seeing Oikawa so scared dissolves his anger for the moment, so in it’s place is concern and love and an ache so big it threatens to cut off his voice, because Oikawa’s expression breaks his heart. He tries to make his tone safe and comforting, and he genuinely doesn’t know if he manages to hide the way his heart is cracking to pieces from the look in Oikawa’s eyes. “Tooru, it’s okay. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. I’m not going to yell at you, I’m not mad at you. I’m not going to force you to do anything, and if you really need to return I won’t stop you, but I ask you to take me with you. You shouldn’t have to face that alone, you shouldn’t have to deal with it at all.”

Oikawa swallows, and he still doesn’t look directly at Hajime, which hurts far more than he expects. This isn’t his place to feel hurt, though, because this is because of trauma and it isn’t Oikawa’s fault, and he has every right to be wary of things after all he’s been through, so Hajime waits. He waits for a sign, for anything, and the minutes tick by on the clock that sits above the stove.

He doesn’t count the time, and eventually, Oikawa reaches over, and slowly, slowly sets his hands in Hajime’s. The relief almost cuts off his breath, but he does his best not to show it, gently curling his fingers around Oikawa’s, brushing his thumbs over the backs on Oikawa’s knuckles. Without letting go, and still without directly looking at more than his hands, Oikawa sits back down again, scooting back in and letting their linked hands rest between them.

“I love you so much,” Hajime says, and he wonders if it sounds like the promise it is. “And I always will. I always have. Nothing you do will ever change that, and you also can’t change that I have always been and will always continue to be proud of you, for the person you are and the way you always strive to see the world as a place worth fighting for. I’m so fucking proud of you for being such an incredible captain, and for handling that and your ridiculous GPA so easily, for holding your head up high and laughing even when the world is throwing things at your face, and for achieving all those goals you keep setting for yourself. There’s nothing you can’t do, Tooru, and there’s nowhere you can go that I won’t follow. Even us choosing different universities wouldn’t mean the end, okay? I  _ love _ you. I’m not going  _ anywhere _ , no matter what happens. You will always have a safe place with me.”

Oikawa’s tears don’t make a sound as they hit the table, and his knuckles are white from how hard he’s squeezing Hajime’s hands, but Hajime only squeezes right back because that’s what Oikawa needs from him right now, and he will always be more than willing to give everything he can. They sit there, Oikawa sniffling every now and then as he cries, clinging to each other’s hands, for another length of time Hajime doesn’t bother to keep track of.

It doesn’t matter, he would sit there for years if it was what Oikawa wanted him to do, and he would do it happily.

Eventually, though, Oikawa lets go, flexing his sore hands before wiping his cheeks and taking a few steadying deep breaths before setting his elbows on the table to rest his forehead on his palms.

Hajime folds his arms to lean on, and he doesn’t push, resting his chin on his arms and watching Oikawa’s hair shift as Oikawa’s fingers shift through it, back and forth as he curls and uncurls his hands. This lasts for less time than he expects, but he’s still not really surprised, since Oikawa’s always been pretty good at pulling his composure together with relative ease, even after a crying fit. 

“I don’t wanna go back,” Oikawa says, more sigh than words, and he sounds resigned. “I don’t. But it’s only a few more months and I can move, and…I’ll be free. And things will be better.”

Hajime hums. “True. But you don’t have to go back when they’re home. Let them leave, stay with me. We’ll go over and clean your whole house after they leave, and then you’ll have a sleepover here until they get back so we don’t mess it back up. We won’t give them anything to use against you. Tell them we’re doing university applications and pretests and whatever you have to, and stay here with me. I’ll go with you if you really need anything, and I’ll make your parents talk to  _ me _ instead of you. I don’t give a shit if I have to be rude to make it happen. I hate seeing you cry, and they don’t fucking have any right to make you feel like that.”

Oikawa peeks over at him, tired, still resigned, but…there’s something kind of like relief and hope in his eyes too. “Your parents won’t mind?” he asks, voice small.

Hajime snorts. “Please. We have a fourth place setting at the table every night, whether you’re here or not. As far as they’re concerned, they have two kids.”

Oikawa’s cheeks turn pink, but it’s lovely because a smile breaks out right beneath his hands, and he ducks his head to hide it. Hajime reaches over and steals one of his hands, squeezing gently. “I promise it’ll all be okay. Like I said, I’m right here, and I’m never going to leave you behind. We’re in this together, okay? Always.”

Oikawa nods, and a few more tears spill down his cheeks, but Hajime’s pretty sure they’re happy tears. He stands slowly, but Oikawa doesn’t stop him, so he takes it as the permission it is to round the table and pull him into a hug.

It’s messy, this life right now, but they’ll make it work. They always have. Hajime will make damn fucking sure Oikawa doesn’t sit through any more abuse if he has any say in anything, and it’s only a few more months. They can do this, they can survive this. They’ve made it this far, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot believe how incredibly sweet you all are, how much love and support i'm given it's something else, truly. i'm so, so glad that anything i can write, that anything i can offer can help you or give you something else to focus on or anything in that vein at all. i'm so grateful that i can offer even the slightest validation, that i can give even the slightest catharsis with anything i write. that i can offer that to anyone at all with the words i type is more than i could ever ask for, so thank you, thank you, thank you. i hope i can continue to provide something that is worth the read, that gives as much as the rest of this fic (and my other works) have, if not more. if any of you need to talk about anything, my messages and ask box over at distantdreaming on tumblr are always open, and it's also for just shouting at me about how gentle iwa's being, because i'm down for that kind of thing too tbh. i'll warn you, tho, even tho i just finished the hq!! manga, i'm very much in voltron hell atm.


	8. i could be anywhere, as long as you're there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can we stay like this - moose blood

It’s rough as hell.

There’s really no surprise, there, but Hajime had still been hoping — however naively — that things would somehow work out in a way that didn’t end in tears and raw throats and red cheeks.

Oikawa’s picture frames lie in pieces on his bedroom floor, and it’s some kind of beautiful as the sunbeams falling through the gaps in the blinds make the shattered glass sparkle, the golden glow lighting the room and the reflected light is like stars on the ceiling. Past the glass, there’s the spilled water and the fallen plastic cup it came from — the cup itself no doubt soaking up the light to glow in the dark later — and the alien head printed on the cup is a stark black contrast an otherwise soothing atmosphere. 

Then there are textbooks spilled in disarray, pages down and crumpled under the weight of worn spines, leading a haphazard path to the edge of the beautiful galaxy blanket that belongs on Oikawa’s bed, the fabric rumbled and squished to the floor where it had been thrown. At the end of this trail of destruction is Oikawa himself, pressed into the corner of his room and fast asleep, long limbs messily draped over Hajime’s, pretty face tucked into his neck.

His cheeks are sticky, the pink flush only now starting to fade from them. Hajime’s shirt is damp beneath his head, and it feels like they’ve both just run a marathon.

Instead, it had been the aftermath of Oikawa’s breakdown once they’d reentered his house and found a letter of chores and a reprimand for some irrelevant thing he’d done when he’d come running to Hajime, and this time, Hajime hadn’t been the only one to get mad.

Oikawa had finished reading the letter, reached for the vase of fake flowers his mother had tucked it beneath and flung it clear across the room. It had shattered in an explosion of faux-vintage porcelain and silk petals, the clattering of the marbles that held up the stems loud in the silence of the house.

Hajime had stared at him in shock, as Oikawa had never been the violent one between the two of them, but that had not been the end of it. 

Next to smash were the family photos on the walls, the ones of Oikawa’s beautiful sister and her son, of Oikawa’s parents, the pitiful two photos Oikawa himself was in; all of them hit the floor with a crash. The tinkling of fragmented glass gave a jarring contrast after each bang of a cracking wooden frame, and Hajime would’ve stopped him had it not been the first time he’d ever seen Oikawa so alive in his own house.

Oikawa tended to get so reserved the moment they crossed the threshold, even if they were alone. In that moment, though, he was a fire, burning bright and fierce and sweeping down the hall, a wake of broken boy and broken trust behind him. The whirlwind of his emotions drags him, and Hajime behind him — as always, always — up the stairs and to his room and across that as well. He yells and he throws everything in his reach that held even the slightest reminder to his parents, and Hajime would have flinched away had he been a more timid man. As it is, he has never been afraid of anything Oikawa is or can be, and he can and will take anything and everything Oikawa throws at him.

This is how they work; Oikawa is a mercurial boy with emotions that rage as violently as a storm on Saturn, and Hajime is his anchor, feet planted firmly on the ground and steady enough to keep both of them from getting whisked away. 

This is how they work, with Oikawa’s tears pouring down his cheeks and Hajime’s arms a hold he won’t fight, even if he’ll kick and scream at everything else in the world. This is where they’ll sink to the floor, tangled together in the corner until Oikawa wears himself out with the force of his own rage and distress, and this is where Hajime will stay, holding tight to Oikawa for as long as he’s needed to and then thereafter until he’s pushed away, if that time ever comes.

***

When Oikawa’s packing his things away, the numbness that eventually follows every such storm fills the air, It feels thick, and Hajime helps fold clothes through the fog, neatly packing them into Oikawa’s ridiculous silvery rainbow luggage. There are cardboard boxes of his books and his keepsakes at the foot of the bed, and between them, they’d made short work of packing pretty much everything Oikawa had in only a few short hours.

Hajime had a very long and serious conversation with his parents over text while Oikawa slept, and Oikawa was moving in immediately and would stay until they both left for university. He hadn’t given much detail, as it wasn’t his place, but he’d given enough information for them to know Oikawa’s current living situation was unsafe and unstable, and that had really been all it took to get them to agree. Honestly, the rest of the conversation had been convincing them not to get authorities and themselves involved.

Hajime has never been more grateful for his lot in life, and has never been so aware of his own luck.  _ Both _ of his parents were good people who loved him dearly and went out of their way to make sure he knew, and to make sure he always felt safe and supported. He had the kind of life every child should have, but few actually did.

Even when he’d figured out he preferred men to women most of the time, the confession had been as easy as a topic over dinner, and his mother had made a joke about baseball and his father had merely shrugged and made him promise to be good to whoever he dated, no matter what gender they happened to identify as.

Honestly, the sheer amount of love he felt for his family made his chest ache sometimes, and it made seeing Oikawa’s family so much worse. How could a household feel so cold? How could a child grow up so unloved? How could parents be so distant, so detached from one of their children?

It turned Hajime’s stomach, and he had to swallow back the ache as he set Oikawa’s nerdy sweater vest collection in between his actual sweaters and his slacks. 

Oikawa hadn’t stopped mechanically transferring each item of clothing from his drawers into his bag since they’d gotten the luggage out from the garage, and he showed no signs of stopping now, even though he was nearing completion. Hajime honestly doubted he was present enough to even realize they didn’t have anything left to store away after the clothing was packed.

He’d cross that bridge when they reached it, though. For now, the clothes had to be paced somehow, and if it was easier for Oikawa to do it with his head in the clouds, so be it.

***

He and Oikawa skip dinner with Hajime’s parents in favor of staying in Hajime’s room, cuddled together on his bed. He’d gotten Oikawa to pick at the plate his mother had brought up to them, but it hadn’t been much.

Hajime doesn’t push, though. Oikawa has never had a problem with his appetite disappearing completely, and Hajime knows he’ll get hungry when he’s feeling better. For now, he just holds Oikawa close and strokes his hair, listening to his quiet breathing.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks softly, some time after sunset when the air outside sits heavy and warm and the fireflies drift by lazily.

“Mmm?” he hums, shifting his gaze from out the window at the slowly blooming stars to focus it on Oikawa, on his sleepy brown doe eyes and mussed hair. 

“Thank you,” Oikawa says, and it. It’s so much.

It’s so  _ soft _ , so vulnerable, that it makes Hajime’s chest ache. It’s so honest, so soft, and it’s so much. 

Oikawa has never really been one to embrace emotional vulnerability, too much toxic masculinity shit cramming into his head from his parents no matter how hard he tries to avoid it. Hajime helps to ease it where he can, helps Oikawa do his best to unlearn it all, but it’s a long and bumpy road. Something this open, this unprompted, is a rarity.

Hajime strokes his hand through Oikawa’s hair, shifting it back so he can press a kiss to Oikawa’s forehead, briefly overwhelmed by just how intensely he loves every single molecule that makes up Oikawa Tooru. “Always,” he breathes, shifting his hold to bring him in even closer. “Always, always, always.”

Oikawa sits up, moving the plate off the bed, and then they’re kissing.

It’s fast and deep and sweet, and Oikawa is every bit seeking comfort from it, but Hajime will give him whatever he wants, even the moon, no matter the cost. Oikawa had never once asked for more than he could give, and so Hajime’s never been in a place where such a commitment could get him in trouble. This is no exception, and Hajime plants his hands on Oikawa’s hips and pours all of his focus into kissing him senseless until all those thoughts Oikawa doesn’t want to think are firmly driven out of his head.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life is a bitch and i'm a Mess but have an update. i like to think i improve at writing when i take my unexpected hiatuses bc i don't stop writing entirely, fics just can't hold my attention when i can't focus.


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